Grey
by control of chaos
Summary: Two drabbles inspired by a question: "How would Alex react to Aziraphale and/or Crowley?"
1. Compatibility

**Compatibility**

"So." Alex crossed his arms over his chest. "Let me get this straight. You," he pointed to Aziraphale, "are some sort of angel from Heaven—"

"Above," the blond bookkeeper corrected.

"—with the whole halo and wings gig," he finished, paying no heed to the interruption.

"Well, I don't have the halo, but the rest seems correct enough."

"And you," he gestured to the bookkeeper's side at the tall black-haired man wearing dark overly conspicuous sunglasses, "are a demon from…Below or Hell or whatever you call it. Do the devil horns and spiked tail come with the package?"

"Actually, I'm a snake."

This made the teenager pause. "A demonic snake."

"Yep."

"I'm recalling something about apples, Eden and original sin."

"That would be the one."

"I can go with that, I guess. Which begs the obvious question: Why the hell (pardon the pun ^^) are you here?"

Aziraphale spoke up. "Someone up There is under the impression that you could have quite the illustrious—"

"—or infamous—" Crowley added.

"—career, if you get a nudge in the right direction."

Alex tossed in over in his mind. Sure, he was Catholic. His whole family had been. He might not have attended church on any occasions besides Christmas and Easter, but running into biblical creatures was stretching his boundaries a little. "All right. I'll consider the possibility, seeing as I wind up in the midst of insane events more often than anyone alive. If I think this through logically, there are three conclusions. One. You two have a seriously warped sense of humor. Two. Some terrorists that I've PO'd have me on some kind of hallucinogenic drugs, although that would certainly be a first. Third. You're telling me the truth."

Crowley raised a dark, delicate eyebrow, eyes unreadable behind the shades. "You don't think we are the ones on drugs?"

"You two?" He snorted in amusement. "Hell no. I've _seen_ people on drugs, and they don't act an iota of how you guys do. Anyhow. Assuming for the moment that I am as sane as you are, which I would certainly hope I am, let's see some proof."

"Proof?" The angel and demon exchanged glances. Aziraphale knitted his fingers together in front of his nose, steel-framed glasses perched precariously on the edge. "And what, dear boy, would suffice to prove our nature?"

"Show me your true forms."

The demon chuckled, and the angel adjusted his frames. "You don't play games, do you?" asked Crowley.

Alex made a circular motion with one hand, urging them to proceed.

They did.

The teenager nodded. "Good enough."

"Good enough?" Aziraphale stuttered. "You look upon the true forms of Above and Below, and all you say is 'good enough?'"

Even Crowley pulled his sunglasses down, staring at him with serpentine eyes. "That _is_ a little unnerving. I was certain that Adam was the only Antichrist this millennium."

"It's no huge feat," Alex shrugged. "I've seen enough so called good and evil to understand that I can never understand it. By rationalizing, it takes the strain off of things. But we have a business arrangement to deal with, I believe."

"He _does_ sound like Adam," Aziraphale muttered.

"You both tell me that I could be an either great or terrible person, and the sides you represent both want to hold some form of influence over my growth. I have this correct?"

"All in one," Crowley agreed, the angel nodding.

"Then tell your…principalities…that they can either leave me alone, or I will destroy—or whatever happens when you dump holy water on a demon and cursed water on an angel—the next ones that so much as _seem_ like they're trying to do something." He said this all in a flat tone entirely devoid of emotion. "I intend on deciding my own path. No one decides how I live. Not anymore."

The angel and demon blinked. A seventeen-year-old _mortal_ had just told them to f*** off.

Warmth returned to his voice. "Either way, I'm undecided. I've seen good and bad people surprise me with their actions. It's all in their intentions, and I don't know what mine are." With that said, he picked up the two grocery bags he had put down and strode at a leisurely pace back to his uncle's house. After a two week stint in Libya, he needed to re-stock the fridge. And then there was that schoolwork he had missed…

Aziraphale and Crowley watched him go until he turned a corner, leaving their view. They sat back down on the bench, where the ducks waited anxiously in the shallow waters, and laughed.

"Humans," Aziraphale giggled, removing his glasses to wipe the tears from his eyes, "can be so much fun."

Crowley leaned back in his seat, chin on his knuckles, and the occasional chuckle still seeping through as he chucked another crumb of bread at the ducks. "I'm so glad the world didn't end. There's nothing so humorous as watching humanity."

"I think I need a drink."

"I'll join you."

And that was what happened when Above and Below tried to reason with a teenager.

* * *

><p>AN: Just a drabble done on a loooong plane ride. There'll be one more coming up unless I get ideas for more. I also like reviews...


	2. Misconception

**Misconception**

The sushi restaurant was five minutes from closing, but the shop owner knew both of his regular customers. Even as the 'CLOSED' sign went up, he let Crowley and Aziraphale take their usual seats by the window.

While the tall, dark-haired man in his pristine suit and impenetrable sunglasses wasn't exactly the sort he bent rules for, the smiling blond bookkeeper from just across the street was. Who could deny someone who looked that innocent a nice dinner, even if his company was…shady.

And that was what the angel and demon had played on every single time they felt like having a late meal in London. The angel didn't influence the shop owner, so he was guilt-free, and the demon got sushi made fresh.

But tonight would be different.

Crowley suddenly shivered and glanced out the glass.

Aziraphale looked up from his chopsticks. "What?"

"I feel something…wrong. Dangerous. It smells good."

The angel shook his head. "Really, dear. All I feel is—" He stopped as the same presence became evident to him. "You must be confused. Some pain, perhaps, and a strong sense of justice, but nothing bordering _dangerous_." Aziraphale shook his head. "Getting old, dear?"

But Crowley sensed a distinct shape to the dangerous aura. Not cloudy and hazed like most, but solidified, directed, and almost arrow-shaped, growing more so as its owner determined a distinct purpose for it. The arrow stretched out to the victim of that deadly purpose, pointing Crowley right to him. In fact, it seemed to be pointed right at…

A sharp crack resounded as the glass beside them splintered around a new hole.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow as Crowley lowered his hand with a snake-like hiss. Had his mouth been open, there would have been a forked tongue visible to explain the sound. "Bless it!" He dropped a cylindrical piece of metal on the restaurant table with a none-too-pleased expression. "Blessed mercy, who in Above or Below would shoot at me with blessed bullets?"

And it _was_ a blessed bullet, as both the angel and demon could tell by the subtle glow, visible only to their kind, which lingered and fell around the metallic cylinder like morning mist. Crowley's hand was equal proof, as it seemed to have melted and crystallized, as sand does after a nuclear explosion, where he had snatched it from the air beside his head.

"Someone with the knowledge to kill demons," Aziraphale said in answer to the rhetorical question. "And not just discorporate. That could very well have shattered your essence if shot correctly."

Both immortals shuddered at the thought. Events like the one they had just narrowly avoided could start wars among their own kind, and not just between Above and Below. Internal strife.

A teenager with the aura of a tiger opened the sushi bar's door, ringing the bell above. If the shop owner hadn't been calling the police to report rocks being thrown at his shop, he would have shooed the kid out. As it was, he strode in unhindered, noisily dragged a seat from a neighboring table over, and joined the pair.

Crowley was about to tell him to leave, not paying much attention to the kid as he painfully re-formed his throbbing numb right hand, when the teenager spoke up.

"You finance, and basically back, three major companies and a terrorist organization called SCORPIA. I don't much care about the companies right now, but I want to see SCORPIA fall." His tone was flat and final, and his blank stare at the demon unwavering.

Aziraphale looked from the teenager, to Crowley, to the teenager, and back at Crowley. "What?"

The demon frowned. "Was your dad the one who just tried to gun me down?"

He sighed and took the Raven* from its hidden holster, aiming it where he had minutes earlier: the middle of his forehead. "I was the one who shot you. Now lay off assisting SCORPIA or I won't give you advance warning next time." A human, no less an adolescent, who could control and suppress his aura? That was a new one.

The angel reached out, intending to soothe the teen's intentions, only to face a smaller gun.

"I know how to curse bullets, too. Now," he didn't let either weapon waver, "the funding?"

Crowley shook his head. "I haven't backed them in weeks. They've grown incompetent, so I put the money, and backing, in smaller groups throughout Libya. Seemed a better investment."

The teenager frowned, obviously taken by surprise at this new bit of information, and was likely about to ask for evidence to back his statement when the bell signaled another visitor.

"Hey, Al!" A dark-haired, mundane-looking man held open the door, his voice tainted by the telltale Liverpudlian accent. "Grace got last minute info that the target has cut funding for SCOR—" He peeked his head further in, noticing for the first time the two people Alex was holding at gunpoint. "Huh. I need to work on my timing."

"Really?" With a ticked expression, he holstered both guns in a single, smooth and well-practiced move. Alex nodded at Aziraphale. "I wouldn't have shot you. Just needed to keep you back, you understand."

The angel sighed. "Your reasoning seems flawed and your conscience rusted, but your heart is pure. You should, somewhat, understand Crowley."

The teenage spy was unruffled. "Don't tempt me. I still feel he would be better…not here, but my feud isn't with him today."

"Awesome." Crowley reclined in his seat, two of the wooden legs no longer landlocked, and drank his tea. "You seem the kind I could appreciate."

The teen's eyes narrowed, but he left with the man.

As Aziraphale set his chopsticks down, he noticed that the blessed bullet had left with the kid. "Interesting boy, but dear, you certainly attract an odd crowd."

* * *

><p>AN: This is all I have from my plane ride. Well, alright there are others, just not ones from this 'verse. The rest was all pure Alex Rider. If anyone has further ideas, I'm happy to write more drabbles for this crossover. I love _Good Omens_, but I can't seem to write anything that doesn't lead to Alex. _*sob*_

*A specialized gun from my Safehouse arc. I just can't seem to get rid of it... It's named for Edgar Allen Poe's "The Raven".


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